The Life and Lies of Hermione Granger
by PrudenceAndParseltongue
Summary: HG/SS. Time-turner fic. When Hermione gets stranded in the past, she, mudblood extraordinaire, finds herself thrown into the snake-pit.
1. An Absence of Information

**Disclaimer: **The Harry Potter Universe, in it's entirety, belongs to the wonderful and exceedingly talented J.K. Rowling. I in no way claim to own anything other than my non-canon plot basis.

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**Chapter One: An Absence of Information**

"Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised or a little mistaken."  
_― Jane Austen, Emma_

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It was nauseating, this sensation. It reminded her vaguely of the way she sometimes felt at night, when she was jerked awake by the impression of falling. Colors blurred so quickly passed her eyes that tears welled up, spilling forth and sliding down her cheeks. But as soon as the tiny droplets of water fell from her flesh, they disappeared into nothingness, evaporating. Something tugged at her navel. And it simply continued. She was unsure of how long she stood there, with the world spinning around her, dizzying her and causing her head to throb. But the exhaustion that entered her body, the hunger that eventually made her stomach rumble soundlessly, told her that it had been hours, at least.

When the spinning stopped, she found she could stand no longer.

Falling to the ground, the petite, golden-haired girl threw her hands out to support herself. The dirt of the forbidden forest swayed, rotating at a leisurely pace. She gripped it tightly between her fingers in an attempt to hold gravity in place. Slowly, so slowly, the vertigo began to ebb.

It was then, when her gaze focused, that she saw the golden chain dangling from her neck.

_Remain calm._

These were the words that repeated themselves over and over again in her mind, as she stared in petrified shock at the broken shards of glass clasped to the piece of jewelry. Picking herself up, she did the only thing she knew to do. She began her journey to Dumbledore.

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Uncertain of where to go or what to do―cryptic was a generous description of their hasty preparatory warnings―she seated herself in one of the soft chairs in front of the desk and knit her hands together, waiting.

The silver instruments spun and whirred at her. Her natural curiosity almost drove her to examine them, but she did not think Dumbledore would appreciate walking in to find a student poking and prodding his things. Fawkes tilted his head at her curiously from his perch. She tried to evade the distinct feeling that she was…wrong.

Not doing something wrong. Not in trouble, but just _wrong_. Like her very existence was out of joint.

The door handle turned behind her and she twisted expectantly. Dumbledore entered, his trademark sherbet lemon between his teeth, and stopped, staring at her in surprise.

Her stomach dropped. No matter that he had sent her, he was clearly not expecting this.

"Professor Dumbledore?" she said tremulously after a long silence. Dumbledore nodded slowly, warmth weighted with suspicion in the normally bright eyes.

"I am he."

Clearly, it was her turn, but the girl was at a complete loss as to what to say. Best to start as this man had instructed her. "Professor Dumbledore sent me," she said hesitantly, aware as she said it how absurd it sounded. His eyebrows rose.

"Most curious," he replied, "as I can testify with certainty that I have never seen you in my life."

She stared at him…and let the wheels that had stopped on her arrival start spinning.

"Perhaps we should begin with you telling me your name," he directed, a slight bite of mistrust clear in his voice as he sat down behind his desk.

She took a deep breath, searching for the best place to start. "In this day and age, sir, I have no name." She knew there was nothing she could offer him; no truth she could tell him, without revealing too much. So she told him what she could, how she could, knowing it would not be enough. But all the while determined to think of something she could say to allow her to stay. "I have no family here," she began, the painful truth of it causing her voice to quiver. "I have no friends, and no connections. I have no wizarding heritage. You will find no record of my existence. But I can tell you that I am here for the sole purpose of the war against Voldemort."

Dumbledore had listened politely, steepling his fingers, the misgiving only increasing as she spoke in earnest. But at the mention of the last name, he sat bolt upright and very still. It was a long moment between the fading of her voice and her next words.

Slowly, hesitantly, she began again. "There is only one thing I can give you, Headmaster. One thing that may allow you to trust me. One thing that may make you believe me." Licking her dry, cracked lips, the golden-haired girl sitting before him whispered, "Let me show you who I am."

Leaning across the desk, the girl knew there was nothing else she could do. _This _was what he would require of her. And she would sacrifice what she could to gain what she must. "I know you are a master of legilimency. Look into my mind, Professor. Please. _Let me show you who I am._"

The silence stretched on. But, with agonizing slowness, Dumbledore unsteepled his hands and withdrew his wand from the sleeve of his cloak, pressing the fabled deathly hallow to her temple, and silently casting the spell.

What he saw was himself.

Twinkling blue eyes gazed out of an aged face. The auburn color had leaked from his hair, leaving behind a silvery mane that fell halfway down his back.

And Voldemort.

A snake-like version of the handsome young man that was now so actively involved in the politics of the wizarding community.

A battered James Potter, with a stag patronus flittering across the sky, forcing dozens of dementors backwards to protect a ragged man from their kiss.

Memories flowed passed his mind's eye, vivid and frightening. One monstrous image after another. And, when finally they ceased, and he pulled himself out of the short clips she had shown him, only four words rang hollowly into the air between them.

"You are a seer."

Shaking her head, this girl, this almost woman, pulled from beneath her shirt the remnants of a trinket. And suddenly, Dumbledore trusted her. He trusted her inexplicably. Then, between the two of them, they began to brainstorm who, from this day forward, she would be.

"Tell me, my dear―do you happen to be fluent in any language other than English?"


	2. The Snake's Pit

**Disclaimer: **The Harry Potter Universe, in it's entirety, belongs to the wonderful and exceedingly talented J.K. Rowling. I in no way claim to own anything other than my non-canon plot basis.

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**Chapter Two: The Snake's Pit**

"All great things must first wear terrifying and monstrous masks in order to inscribe themselves on the hearts of humanity."  
_― Friedrich Nietzsche_

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__The massive castle was deserted as the gargoyle sprang into place behind her. No sounds echoed off the walls, no cheerful greetings or the wild laughter of the misbehaving. With a pang more violent that she would have thought possible, she recalled the endless hours she had spent in this castle. But that had been in a different time, a different age. She could not jeopardize her goals by becoming attached to anyone here. Hogwarts would be nothing more to her than a reminder of a better life. An unwelcome reminder, at that.

"And tonight…" All of the first years had been Sorted. Dumbledore had found Harmony in the Entrance Hall and bid her to wait in a side room off the Great Hall until he could inform her peers. "…I have the pleasure of announcing that we have a transfer student! This first to grace the halls of Hogwarts in over six decades."

The staff were suddenly nudging each other, frowning. It appeared that they were as surprised as the student body.

"A fifth year young lady from Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons, Miss Harmony Gregorovitch!"

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the cavernous chamber.

"Please, put on the Sorting Hat," Dumbledore instructed. Flitwick halted mid-stride where he had been removing them, putting both aging stool and careworn hat back down in the center of the room.

Harmony carefully examined the hall as she walked slowly towards the Sorting Hat, fighting the urge to sweep her hair in front of her face to hide herself. Most faces were curiously friendly as necks craned to study her. Her eyes swept the Slytherin table, and she recognized, with an unpleasant jolt, many of the students sitting amongst their housemates. She fought to keep her face composed and quickly averted her eyes, looking for a less disturbing place to settle them.

She found it in a startlingly handsome boy at Gryffindor table, one watching her with a slightly calculating look to his eye, and a smile playing around the edges of his mouth. He was seated next to a slender boy with mouse-brown hair and across from―

―she knew that face. The messy black hair spiking up all over the place, the easy smile, the intensity. _Except, of course_, she thought, echoing the words of so many teachers, Ministry members and other adults… no, she wouldn't continue that thought.

But now she was at the stool, and had no time to look for others in the crowd. She slid onto it smoothly, and pulled the hat over her head.

"Ah. Another one. Fine mind, indeed, one of the best I've seen… But your sense of loyalty and your courage―my goodness yes―so strongly developed. However, you've been a Gryffindor before, now, haven't you, Miss… Gregorovitch, is it?" The hat, if possible, chuckled. "Here to lie, now, are you? Well, if you're expected to get close to the students of Salazar, better be…" And, aloud, so that everyone could hear, "SLYTHERIN!"

The Gryffindors booed. The Slytherins clapped and whistled, cheering as the new student walked over to sit down with them. There was much whispering of "Budge up!" that fluttered down the table. A french witch was a curiosity that all wanted to indulge.

Harmony slowly approached the table, swallowing nervously. A flash of dark, untameable hair crowned a pale face―and she identified yet another face―seated with several other girls, looks of undisguised interest frank in their eyes as they stared at her.

She had barely sat down on the seat across from a blonde haired, brown eyed girl, when Dumbledore appeared suddenly behind her. His face was calm, but there was a hint of panic in his twinkling blue eyes that she doubted anyone else would catch. "Miss Gr―" he paused, before blinking owlishly. "I apologize for interrupting your first dinner at Hogwarts, but there's something I'd like to discuss with you before we eat."

Harmony furrowed her brows confusedly, but nodded all the same, climbing back off of the bench and following the Headmaster into the sideroom he'd placed her in earlier. He paced in front of the fireplace.

"Miss Gregorovitch?" he questioned, stopping and looking up at her. "I mean no offense, but it seems I must ask you: what, exactly, do you know of pureblood etiquette?"

She was instantly taken aback. "Virtually nothing, sir," she replied, voice squeaking. The moment he had asked her, she knew immediately what he was getting at. Hermione had been sorted into Slytherin. She would draw attention if she was not one of them.

She, a mudblood witch, had been thrown into the snake's pit.

"It seems that we have good fortune, my dear. We have, unintendedly, given you a pureblood identity. Come. It seems that you have many lessons to learn, in a very limited space of time."


End file.
